


At the Crossroads

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-21
Updated: 2005-01-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian finds out about Justin's job offer in LA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

He knew that Justin was waiting for a reaction from him but he couldn't seem to form the words. To say that he was shocked by Justin's news was an understatement. He'd thought that he'd corner the market on surprises but his question was nothing compared to Justin's news. 

"Brian?"

"So when did this happen?" Which was a stupid question but right now it was all he could do not to walk out into the streets and start screaming. 

"When I was in LA." 

"Oh." As if that answered anything, as if that answered Brian's unasked question which was: why? For a moment, he was tempted to just let it go, to lay down and let Justin walk all over him but he wasn't that kind of a man and he just couldn't do it. Again. Not twice in their relationship. Voice tight with barely suppressed anger, he said, "So you made a potentially life altering decision without talking to me. Your so-called partner."

"Brian, you don't understand—"

"I understand that you're the one who's always bitching at me for not talking to you. What was it you called me? 'A motherfucking piece of shit'?"

"You didn't tell me you had cancer!"

"Because I didn't want you to worry!" And that was true. Mostly. 

"You decided that! You never gave me a chance to feel or do anything."

"You didn't need that on top of everything else."

"You decided. As long as you're in charge, you're in control, everything's fine," echoing what he'd said that night in the backroom of Babylon after Brian had refused to even let him buy a drink: 'You always have to be on top, the one in charge.' 

"You think I can control cancer?" Even now he was scared to death that it would come back and taking his remaining testicle wouldn't matter much cause if it came back, he was a goner. But he didn't want to think about that. "And, anyway," he continued, "this isn't about me, it's about you. You and your rules, your bullshit ideas about communicating which, apparently, means that I have to clear everything with you and you can do whatever the fuck you want."

"I didn't think you'd care."

Justin could do better than that. "Don't lie to me." 

"You don't want me to go?" Justin asked quietly with a contrite look on his face, the look Brian had come to associate with Justin's less than subtle attempts to manipulate him. He wanted to shake the young man because they'd come too damn far for these games.

"Of course, I want you to go! It's a fuckin' amazing opportunity and you'd be a fool to pass it up." He shook his head. "And you knew I'd say that. You were counting on it. That's why you said yes." Justin's eyes widened. Brian supposed he never thought he'd be called on it. "You knew exactly how it'd go down. You'd waltz in here and tell me you had this fanfuckintastic chance to make your dreams come true and I'd tell you to go for it. And even if I didn't want you to go, I couldn’t say that or I'd have every fuckin' body for fifty miles around telling me what a selfish sonofabitch I was for holding you back. You played me," he said over Justin's objections, "and you got exactly what you were angling for. So you go. You do whatever the hell you want." He couldn't resist adding, "You always do."

"Fuck you, Brian."

"Fuck you." He stared at Justin in disbelief, amazed that Justin was angry, and then said even softer than before, "Fuck you." He had to get out of there, had to go somewhere, anywhere, he just had to get away from Justin before things got out of hand. Grabbing his keys, he started for the door.

"Where are you going?"

Now Justin seemed concerned, seemed afraid that maybe he'd gone too far. Brian paused. "Not as far as LA." 

 

He could tell the moment Justin arrived in Woody's without even turning around. Back to the door, he still knew. They were connected that way. He wondered how that'd work when Justin was in Los Angeles and he knew the answer to that question: it wouldn't. 

"You shouldn't drink while you're on painkillers."

"Water," he said, holding up the glass of clear liquid. "To take said painkillers."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Like a motherfuck." 

"Brian—"

"I don't want to talk about this in the middle of Woody's." No point in causing a scene in the bar, he'd just keep a tight rein on his temper and they'd get through this and he'd go home and begin the process of letting Justin go.

"Why? So no one will know we're in a relationship?"

"Who the hell doesn't know? Our lives are a fuckin' soap opera." 

" 'Gay as Blazes' ?"

"Got cancelled."

"Are we going to be?"

"That's up to you." Until that point, Justin had been hovering next to him, not quite over him because, even seated, Brian was taller than his young lover. Now, Justin took a seat beside him and pressed against him unconsciously.

"It's up to us."

"Kind of hard to be us when one of us will be almost 3,000 miles away."

With a smile, Justin said, "There's this marvelous invention called an airplane—"

Brian didn't bite. "You'll be busy."

"Flights go both ways."

"Kinnetik's just getting off the ground."

"We've both got telephones." When Brian didn't respond, Justin asked, "You want to give up on us?"

"Be easier." He could see the fear in Justin's eyes and added, "But since when did we do easy?"

"Never."

Never was right. They seemed to have a fetish for emotional pain. If Justin ripped out his heart, Brian would still find a way to explain it, to deal with it, and to move on. To wait for Justin to be with him again. He had done it before. Even now, he hated the sound of violin music and he was glad Ian had gone on tour because if he had to run into him around Liberty Avenue all the time, he might be tempted to break his hands. "You drive the 'vette?"

"Yeah, and have you kill me?" snorted Justin. "Besides," he added, "you took the keys." And Brian was the only one with a set to the 'vette.

"Guess we're cabbing back then." There was no way he was taking public transportation. Brian got up and held the door open for Justin. "So when are you leaving?" he asked as they stood outside keeping an eye out for a free taxi. Not the safest topic of conversation but he needed to know and they hadn't gotten down to details during their big blow-up.

"Next week."

So soon. "Going home tonight?" Home, to Daphne's which pissed Brian off but, at least, her place—their place—was better than that rat hole Ian had lived in. He'd never seen the inside but the building itself was a dump so he didn't hold much hope for the apartments. 

"Thought I'd stay at the loft. Take care of you."

"You never answered my question." They both knew which one: whether he should make room in the loft for Justin.

"Maybe we should wait until I get back."

Sensible, still it hurt. His entire body stiffened. "Fine."

"Brian…"

"I'll still be here," he said, more to reassure himself than Justin that everything would be all right despite the separation. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

"You don't have to come," Justin told his lover after Brian had said something snarky for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. "I know how much you hate going away parties." After all, he hadn't gone to Michael's that time although there had been extenuating circumstances. 

"And have Debbie ride my ass for a week? Or longer?" Not something he looked forward to. Ever. 

"She'll be too busy interfering in her granddaughter's life to interfere in yours."

"You underestimate her powers of aggravation. She could be one of Rage's new villains. The Aggravator." He wished he could just leave it at that, but he couldn't because something had been bothering him all afternoon, the way Justin had been behaving, as if he were waiting for Brian to explode and it pissed him off, he hated when people walked on eggshells around him. Why couldn’t they just come out and say what they wanted, fight for what they wanted, be who they were instead of pretending all the fucking time? "You don't want me to come, do you?" By the way Justin flinched, Brian figured he'd uncovered a truth if not the entire truth. "Afraid I'll make a scene, say something inappropriate."

"I didn't say—"

Bulldozing right on ahead, he asked, "Can I still go with you the airport or should I just skip that too?" Justin didn't say anything. "Fine. How about you call me when you get to LA? Or not. It's your life."

"Brian, please—"

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it." Fuck! Hadn't he just been bitching to himself about people pretending to be something they weren't and here he was volunteering to put on a mask. "I'll play the part of the perfect, fucking boyfriend, just tell me what you want," because he was tired, so goddamn tired of fighting and feeling like shit and missing Justin even though he was still in the loft with him and hadn't gone anywhere but, really, he was already gone. "Tell me what you want," he said again wearily. 

"I want you to stop acting like I've done something wrong! Like I'm forcing you to do something you don't want to do. You said that you were okay with LA. You said that. I asked you, Brian, and you said that you were and, now… What do you want from me?"

He wanted to say, "I want you to stay here with me and not ever go away, not ever think about leaving me again because I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do without you." But he didn't say that. Instead, he asked, "Do you want me to come to the party?" and he tensed up because he didn't really know what Justin's answer would be. They used to be able to read one another but now it was as if Justin was written in Hindustani and he in Farsi. 

"I want you to come. The question is: do you?"

"I want to." Proof of the state he was in, to want to go to another family fiasco because that's what it'd end up being. These things, they never went well. He was beginning to think they were all cursed or some shit. 

Justin flashed a smile, not as brightly as he used to but it was a start. Or maybe a better ending than they'd anticipated. "Then we'd better get our asses moving before we're late."

 

"What the fuck is that?" Something schmaltzy was playing on the stereo and Brian wanted to stuff his ears full of wax.

"It's Barry," said Deb, as if that explained anything. Unfortunately, it did.

"And why are you torturing us with it?"

"He's coming to town and I got tickets. Em and I are going, right, honey?"

"Oh yeah," exclaimed Emmett. "Any guy who started out in the bath houses playing with the Divine Miss M is all right with me."

"Jesus." Determined to ignore the music, he began making faces at Gus who was sitting on the floor at Lindsay's feet. Mel had opted out of the gathering which meant there was one less source of tension in the room but Brian was certain that, at some point, the peace would be shattered. Only a matter of time. But until then, he'd pretend everything was okay. He hooked the corners of his mouth with his fingers and wagged his tongue. Gus began to giggle and got up to make his way to his daddy. Brian's plan to block out worries and Barry was working perfectly except that he began to listen to the words of the song.

"We had the right love   
At the wrong time  
Guess I always knew inside  
I wouldn’t have you for a long time

Those dreams of yours  
Are shining on distant shores  
And if they're calling you away  
I have no right to make you stay…"

Brian stood just as Gus reached him. He felt as if a billion army ants were biting him from the inside out. When he got like that, he needed to be by himself or he was liable to do or say anything and he'd promised himself, promised Justin tacitly, if not explicitly, that he'd get through this party and not fuck it up. "I need a smoke," he mumbled to no one in particular and went out back hoping they'd leave him alone.

Deb looked after him in confusion, then back at Justin. "Justin, honey…"

They were all looking to him for an explanation. "We'll be back." He walked outside, found Brian standing in the backyard smoking. "Hey."

"Hey." So Justin had come but even he was a little wary of the reception he'd receive and so he stood near Brian without touching him and it hurt a little bit, that Justin felt uneasy around him. Yet, hadn't he fostered that feeling?

"Remember that time we shotgunned out here? The night Senator Baxter came to dinner?"

"Yeah." There'd been snow on the ground and the night sky had been so clear that they could see the stars but neither one of them had paid any attention to the stars. Their interests had been terrestrial and as close as the man standing next to them.

"Remember what you said?"

"That was a long time ago," he replied although he remembered that entire exchange. There had been very few exchanges with Justin that he had forgotten. 

"You told me to watch my back and I said that I'd be all right as long as I had you to protect me." He grasped Brian's arm and squeezed his bicep. "I still need you."

"You can take care of yourself." His adventures with the Pink Posse had proven that. He'd gotten himself into that mess and extricated himself as well without Brian having to ride to his rescue on a black horse and wearing a grey hat. 

"I still need you."

"You'll be out in California," he said which, to him, limited his helpfulness. What if Justin got sick and needed him? He'd be almost a day away. And still that wasn't the real objection. The real objection was that they wouldn't be together, that Justin would be out there with the beautiful people: studio execs and directors, actors and industry insiders, all wealthy, all good-looking, and all wanting to take Brian's place by his golden boy's side. 

"Won't change how I feel about you."

"You don't know that." Nothing was certain, nothing was permanent, nothing lasted long enough.

"I've loved you since the moment I met you."

"You were just a kid—"

"Don't do that! I know what I felt. And maybe it wasn't love the way that I love you now but it was love to me."

A love that Justin had put aside to be with someone else. And it still hurt, no matter how many times Justin had apologized, no matter how many promises he'd made, there'd always be those weeks, those missing months between them to remind Brian that he hadn't been good enough. "You haven't always loved me." 

"I've always loved you," Justin reiterated. "I just… haven't always liked you very much."

"Least you're honest," Brian said, chuckling ruefully.

"I learned that from you." He stroked Brian's arm. "If you don't want me to go, tell me."

"I don't want you to go." There, he said it. And now what? What the hell did that change? "But if you don't, you'll hate me for it."

"I could never—"

"You'd hate me. And I'd hate myself for standing in your way." He laughed. "And your mom would kick my ass. She's small but wiry." He fell silent for a moment, then said quietly, "And I want you to go. Rage is your baby, you deserve to be there, to make sure they don't fuck it up. And I want… I want everyone to know how talented you are. You deserve that."

"I want you."

Studying Justin's face for a long moment, Brian found the reassurance he needed. "We're partners, right?"

"Right."

"Then you've got me." Leaning over, Brian kissed Justin's lips softly. 

"It's chilly," Justin said, shivering slightly. Maybe it was the kiss. "Let's go inside."

Brian slipped his arm around Justin's shoulder and sighed. "I fuckin' hate Barry Manilow."

 

"I can't wait until this thing comes off," Justin complained of Brian's sling and Brian wanted to say, "Why? You won't be here when it does," but he kept quiet. After all, there were airplanes and he could find some time to fly out and visit Justin. Cynthia and Ted could hold down the fort, especially for a weekend. What was the point of being your own boss if you couldn't skip town sometimes without being bitched out? Of course, he remembered saying something like that to Cynthia about his supposed trip to Ibiza and he didn't think he'd ever seen her so angry. He'd finally come clean to her after Joanie's visit to the office. Cynthia wasn't a fool, she'd known something big was up and it would have only been a matter of time before she weaseled the truth out of Ted. So he'd spared them both and told her. Conditioned by five years experience with the Kinney Method of Coping, she hadn't coddled him or offered false sentiments. She'd nodded when he'd confessed the truth about his trip and then she'd told him that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again, she'd have his balls, both of them for good measure. 

God, one artificial ball and now a broken collarbone. He was falling apart. He'd had thirty-one good years give or take a few injuries courtesy of Jack and now it was as if his body was rebelling against him. Which didn't really help his situation with Justin any. The nineteen-year-old was used to a more energetic form of sex. Maybe this was best, to slow down and take their time and savor the moments because no matter how many promises they made, life would determine how faithful they would be. It was easy to say, "I'll come out to see you once a month," and harder to actually do it.

So Brian lay supine on the bed and allowed Justin to roam his body at will as if he were memorizing each inch of his lanky lover. Brian had no such need. He knew Justin, would know him blindfolded and deaf. His fingers, his lips, his nose knew Justin. And his cock. Fuck yeah, his cock knew Justin. He shuddered and it had everything to do with the blond licking his belly. "Justin," he whispered but he turned his head when a pair of blue eyes looked up at him. It was too hard to say anything so he said nothing at all. 

Only drew up his legs and spread them when Justin began to root around between his thighs. Only sighed as Justin took him into the warmth of his mouth. One hand, strong and veined, reached up and stroked his left nipple while the other fondled his balls and made him forget that one of them wasn't real.

Justin's tongue fluttered around the head of his cock, tracing the edges of the cap. It followed the curve of the dome of his cock and explored the deep slit separating the two halves. "Christ," gasped Brian and he knew he had begun to seep by the way Justin sucked him harder as if he could draw more precum from the tip by suction alone.

Brian's head lolled back and forth on his pillow and he licked his lips even as Justin licked his shaft. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his dick disappear between Justin's lips and he arched his back, sliding even deeper. Time lost all meaning as Justin went down on him. He couldn't believe there had ever been a time when they had been apart and he refused to believe that they wouldn't always be like this: Justin's head bobbing over his groin, his cock seeking the deep recesses of his lover's mouth, hungering for his throat. 

A finger wet with saliva brushed against his hole demanding entrance. Nothing like Justin's usual forays, all hesitation and uncertainty. No, this time the finger pushed against, prodded, and massaged Brian's pucker until it opened for him. This time Justin fingered him with a man's sure touch, driving Brian crazy by teasing his prostate in between stretching the outer ring of his ass. Whenever Justin's finger grazed his prostate, Brian groaned and jerked.

Withdrawing his finger, Justin kissed a line from Brian's hole to his balls. Nuzzled the heavy sac before raising up over Brian and kissing his way back up his torso until their lips met again. "I love you," Justin whispered into Brian's open mouth before attacking his lips again. He drew away and then licked Brian's throat, sucking a spot just below his ear. "I want to be inside you." He rubbed his cock against Brian's, both of them hard and leaking, and kissed his lightly stubbled chin. 

Unable to speak, Brian closed his eyes and raised a leg, let it drape over Justin's hip. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd let Justin top him and, while it didn't happen often, he always enjoyed it. Yet another thing he didn't examine too closely for fear that he'd lose all sense of himself, of the person he'd painstakingly crafted himself to be over the years. Somehow, just by being with Justin, he'd begun to question the assumptions he had about himself, the assumptions others made about him. If any of his former tricks could have seen him now, lying on his back and moaning as Justin pushed inside him, they wouldn't have recognized him. Sometimes, he didn't recognize himself. But tonight wasn't the time to think about those things, tonight he simply wanted to enjoy himself, to let himself be pleasured by his lover. 

 

He heard Justin when he left the bed and waited as the teen padded across the cool floor. Felt him move in close and then wrap his arms around his waist. Laid his head between his shoulder blades, face pressed against the band of the annoying sling Brian wore. "So what's Brett's place like?" 

"Kinda tacky. It's very Hollywood. Nothing like the loft."

"Hmm." He couldn't have cared less about Brett's spread but he knew why he'd asked: just idle chit chat to keep from talking about anything important. 

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not angry with me, are you?"

He hated to hear that tentative tone creep back into Justin's voice especially after the masterful way the teen had fucked him earlier. Instead of answering Justin's question with another question, Brian replied honestly, "No. I'm not angry with you."

"And you'll wait for me?"

Brian took a last drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out. "There's never been anyone else," he said, turning to face his partner.

Lacing his fingers with Brian's, Justin told him, "I'm going to miss you." 

Saying nothing, Brian tightened his grip on Justin's hand, then led him back to bed. 

 

"I guess you'd better get going. The line's pretty long to get to the gates."

"Yeah," Justin said, glancing at the line to pass through the security checkpoint. 

They'd convinced everyone else not to come because it'd be hard enough to say goodbye surrounded by disinterested spectators without having their family and friends gawking at them while they attempted to act as if nothing was happening, as if Justin were taking a day trip to Philly instead of making a six to eight month move to California. 

Still one-armed courtesy of his fall during the Liberty Ride, Brian cupped Justin's face with his right hand and stroked his cheek and jaw. He'd watched Justin change from a boy to a man and, yet, he still recognized him despite the changes, both external and internal. If his eyes and smile weren't as bright as before, that was life; they hadn't tarnished completely, the glow remained. He was still Justin. And he was going away, leaving on a jet plane. Unbidden, a fragment of an old song went through his head, "Leaving on a jet plane/ Don't know when I'll be back again…" With that thought, before it became any harder to say goodbye, Brian pressed his mouth to Justin's in a gentle kiss. They parted lips but remained foreheads touching, one of the special ways they communicated their thoughts and feelings without words, as if they could read one another's mind. 

"I'll call when I get in," promised Justin. 

" 'kay."

"I love you," Justin whispered, tightening his hold on Brian's waist. 

Pausing but a second, Brian replied just as softly, "Me too." His heart was pounding and he was glad he'd worn his sunglasses. He pulled away, hoping Justin would just go, go and get in line, and act like there was nothing new, nothing different about what Brian had just said. With a barely perceptible smile, Justin shouldered his backpack and queued up. After a moment, Brian turned away and walked out of the terminal into the cold light of a new day.


	2. At the Crossroads

Grunting, Brian came, stroking his cock as the last few beads of cum dripped from the tip to fall onto the floor of the shower. Wasted. If Justin had been there, he would have swallowed every drop. Brian leaned against one wall of the shower, the stall too big for one person, especially someone as slender as he was. Just like the bed, where he tossed and turned every night afraid of falling off the edges now that he didn't have Justin's body as a buffer. He rattled around the loft in a space that seemed even emptier without Justin's chatter, Justin's banging around in the kitchen, Justin's humming as he checked his email. 

With the water off, the steam quickly dissipated and, in a moment, he began to chill so Brian left the stall and grabbed a thirsty, red towel and dried himself off. He wrapped the towel around his waist when he was done and shaved without bumping into Justin the way he used to as they had jockeyed for a position at the mirror. On occasion he'd mentioned changing out the mirror or even upgrading the vanity to accommodate two sinks but he'd always ended up forgetting about it because he'd actually liked brushing against his lover as they got ready. Once, Justin teased him about doing The Bump.

"What do you know about The Bump?" Hell, he'd barely been old enough to remember it and only then because he'd seen Claire and some of her loser friends doing it one time in her room. The sight of the gawky, uncoordinated teenage girls dancing had definitely cemented his aversion to females in general.

"I saw 'I'm Gonna Git You Sucka' the other night with Daphne. They were on 'Soul Train' and doing The Bump." And Justin had bumped Brian so hard that he'd been thrown off-balance. 

"Watch it," Brian had admonished with a grin. "Not everybody has an ass like yours."

"And aren't you glad that I do?" Justin had said, smirking.

Brian had cupped said ass and stroked a plump cheek lovingly. "Fuck yeah."

Bathed and shaved, Brian attended to the most important part of his morning ritual: choosing his wardrobe. Since opening his own business, his everyday attire had changed, become less formal. Whenever he had presentations to make, out came the impeccably tailored Armani suits but, for an ordinary day at the office, he tended to stick to slacks and a button-down. Of course, with the sling, it was a lot easier not to have to struggle with a suit jacket. Wishing Justin was there to help him with the damn thing, Brian managed to get the sling on and checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror. It was probably time for another haircut but it'd wait. Everything could wait. Nothing was pressing anymore. Not since his partner had left for LA. It was as if there was this six to eight month lull in his life. Not exactly a time out, more like a slow down. 

Snatching up his wallet and keys, he stuffed them into his pockets, shrugged on his corduroy overcoat, and headed outside. Within minutes he'd flagged down a cab and was on his way to the diner for breakfast.

 

Deb saw him the moment he stepped into the place and called out to him. "Hey, kiddo."

He raised his head in greeting and slipped into the booth next to Emmett and Ted. Michael and Ben sat on the opposite side with their heads bent over the classifieds. House hunting. They'd been talking about it for a week. Now that there was a new addition to the Bruckner-Novotny household, they'd decided to start looking for a bigger space. 

Deb brought over his first cup of coffee of the morning and he sipped it, savoring its warmth even as he lamented its lack of taste. Well, if he wanted good coffee, he'd have to wait until he got to work. Not that it mattered. He didn't come to the diner for good coffee or even good food, he came for the company. Only, lately, nearly everyone was starting to annoy him. Now that there was no Justin to run interference or to distract him, coax him out of his dark moods, he constantly found himself on the edge of black rages more often. It'd only been three weeks since Justin had gone and it was already three weeks too long. He was tired of hearing about Michael's desire to be "a real dad to his child" and the implied opinion that he, Brian, was not a real father to Gus just because he didn't constantly bug the shit out of the kid with unwelcome attention. And if he heard another word about Deb and Horvath's plan to live together in sin, he thought he'd scream. Just the thought of them sharing a bed and having sex was enough to put him off sex—not that he was having any these days. Which probably explained his general pissiness. Why couldn’t everyone just shut the fuck up about their petty, fuckin' problems? 

Knowing it would take only a word to set him off, Brian concentrated on his coffee while he waited for Deb to bring his usual. Maybe if he kept out of the conversation, he'd make it through breakfast without biting anyone's head off. They were used to him not talking and, with Michael and Emmett at the table making grandiose plans to decorate the new Bruckner-Novotny homestead after they finally found their dream house, it wasn't as if anyone had to say anything to him or about him. But, of course, someone did. Emmett, to be exact.

"Hey, could you imagine Brian selling the loft to get a house for him and Justin?" The guys laughed and Brian gripped the handle of his coffee cup tighter. 

"Maybe. If he turned it into a bordello," Ted said. "Might as well make some money off of all those tricks. He'd be a millionaire a hundred times over if he'd only charged for his services." 

"Hey, come on, guys," Ben admonished even though he'd called Brian 'the whore of Pittsburgh' which Brian had never forgotten, steroids or not.

He felt a vein throb in his forehead and knew he had to get out of the diner before blood was shed. Standing, he counted out enough money to cover the breakfast he wouldn't be consuming. "You know," he said to Ted, "you might want to remember who signs your fuckin' paycheck." With that, he strode out of the diner and into the cool air. As soon as it hit his face, he began to breathe easier. 

 

Seated in his office, he actually felt better. Maybe it was because this was the one place that wasn't saturated with memories of Justin. The teen had been in the offices, they'd even had sex on Brian's white sofa after everyone else had gone home one evening but, despite that, Kinnetik had remained Brian's place, not Brian and Justin's. Not like the loft or the diner or Deb's house. Still, he wasn't completely able to escape thinking about his partner. Checking the time, he decided to give Justin a call. It was early yet in LA but Justin was often at work before eight a.m. which, subsequently, meant he got up fairly early. Brian hoped this was one of those days. Four times Justin's cell phone rang and then switched to voicemail. Maybe he was in the shower. "Hey. Just calling to see what's up." He hesitated. "I… I miss you. Later," he whispered and then severed the connection on the speaker phone. 

With nothing pressing to do, he decided to check up on the competition by flipping through a pile of magazines he kept in a file cabinet just for that purpose. He'd just finished putting sticky notes on a number of ads in Cosmopolitan when Theodore knocked and pushed through the glass doors of his office.

"Bri? Got a minute?"

Nodding, he closed the magazine and waited.

Although Ted didn't actually shuffle his feet, he might as well have. With his shoulders hunched, hands shoved into his pants' pockets, and his eyes downcast, he seemed unable to say what he'd come to say. Finally, he took a deep breath and just spat it out. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that crack at breakfast."

"You've said worse," Brian told him and it was true. They'd all said worse things to one another. 

"I know but I also know how hard it's been for you."

"Why?"

"Because Justin's in LA."

Cheeks warming, Brian growled, "And what? I can't manage on my own without him? Everybody has to feel fuckin' sorry for me, is that it?"

Ted shook his head. "No, it's just that… Well, anyway, I'm sorry."

Brian cast about for something to say. "You got any names lined up for the second phase of the Brown Athletics' campaign?" They'd need a new face once they'd saturated the market with Drew Boyd's pictures. 

"How do you feel about Olympic athletes with a huge gay following?"

"What? The Hamm Brothers?"

"Could be."

Brian smiled, the first real smile he'd managed in a while. "Fuckable," he commented. "Good work, Theodore." He turned his attention back to his stack of magazines. "Now, go away," he said as he waved him out rather imperiously. Just as he was about to open up Vogue, his cell rang. "Justin," he said without even looking at the display panel. 

"Hey. I was in the shower."

"Jacking off?"

"What else? What's up?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head even though Justin couldn't see him. 

"So… do you really miss me?"

"Twat." Brian had known he'd regret that confession. 

Justin laughed. "You miss me. Brian Kinney misses me," he bragged a la the infamous Going Out-of-State for College Conversation.

"Shut up."

"You love me," Justin sang as he had before. "You love me sooo much." 

"Go to work," Brian ordered and shut down his cell. Held it against his cheek. He'd talk to Justin later, after the teen's work day was over. That was their routine, to talk at night after everything had quieted down. The time difference didn't matter since Brian didn't sleep much anyway and Justin was usually in pretty early, exhausted from putting in ten and twelve hour days. Brian buzzed Cynthia. "Non-fat latte with an extra shot. And get me the file for the Niedermeyer account."

"Got it."

Now that the edge has been taken off, he can concentrate on the day's business. 

 

After forcing himself to take a sip of the less than stellar Chardonnay Lindsay had picked up on the way home, Brian set it up on a high shelf out of reach of small hands. Gus was at the age where he wandered around a room looking for trouble. Considering that alcoholism ran rampant on both the maternal and paternal sides of his father's family, Gus didn't need an early introduction to the stuff. Other than that one time when Lindsay had come over while Brian was nursing a hangover from his and Mikey's night out on the town reliving their aborted dreams of singing in a rock 'n' roll band, Brian had made it a point never to be high around his son. He didn't want Gus to have the kinds of memories he had of his old man. Despite his worst intentions, Brian was becoming a good father. He wasn't a good father yet but there was still hope. Hence these weekly dinners at Lindz's new place. Even if it meant drinking swill, he'd do it. Besides, she was a good cook which made up for her terrible taste in wine. Next time, he'd bring a bottle.

"You talk to Justin lately?"

"I talk to him almost every fuckin' day, Lindsay." Without warning, a defensive note leapt into his voice. 

She must have realized she'd trod on something delicate because she immediately began to backpedal. "I just meant, had you talked to him today?"

"No, you didn't," he said. "I know what you all think. That since he's gone, I've been out carousing, celebrating my freedom and fucking everything that moves. Well, I haven't," he told her, taking another sip of the wine and grimacing. Gus saw the face he made and echoed it. Brian laughed. 

"He's your son all right." Lindsay found Gus' teddy bear and handed it to him. The toddler put him in a plastic wagon and began to pull him around the apartment. "Yesterday, in day care, he said, 'Shit,' " she told him sotto voce. "Apparently, he was frustrated, threw down his crayon, and said, 'Shit.' " Brian laughed until a tear appeared at the corner of his eye. "Brian! It's not funny."

"Shi—crap, Lindsay. He's not even three. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I know and I'd like to keep it that way. So watch your language around him. He repeats everything he hears. Especially what he hears from you."

Brian raised a brow. "Why me?"

"Because you're his daddy."

Watching the little boy babble to his teddy bear, Brian said, "Sometimes I wonder if he even knows who I am."

"He knows. And he loves you," she assured him.

"Mikey would probably be a better dad than me," he said, thinking about his best friend and the way he doted on his baby daughter. 

Lindsay smiled softly. "Michael's a good man and I love Jenny but I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to be Gus' father but you." 

"So," he began, "are you and Mel gonna get back together anytime soon?"

She shrugged. "I think it's been good for us, being apart."

"How?" He'd hated it when he and Justin had been apart during the Fiddler Months and he really hated it now even though they were still, technically, together. Still, maybe it had done some good, their being separated. They'd both grown some during their time apart although you wouldn't have known it from the way he'd acted when he found out he had cancer and the way Justin had dove head first into the Pink Posse. Stupid. 

"We needed time to let go of the anger and resentment and to think about what we each want."

Brian finished off his wine and hoped she wouldn’t offer him anymore. Besides, with the medication he was taking, it probably wasn't a good idea to have more than a glass. "So, have you figured out what you want?"

"I know that I don't want to spend the rest of my life without Mel. I love her."

"For some inexplicable reason," Brian added. "Now what?"

She shrugged. "We take it slow, I suppose. I want to be part of Jenny's life. The first months are so special, I don't want to miss out on that."

Brian twirled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers before putting it down. "I was really pissed at you."

"For what?"

"For choosing Mikey over me."

"Bri… I didn't know. I mean, we had to talk you into it so I thought, when Mel changed her mind, that you'd be happy."

"Mikey told me that you didn't make him sign over his rights to the baby," he said softly, looking over at Gus who had tired of hauling his bear around and was now piling up blocks in an attempt to build a very unsteady tower. 

"No," she replied, eyes downcast, unable to meet his. "We didn't feel it was necessary."

"I would have never taken Gus from you," he said.

"I know."

"And I would have tried to be a good father to Jenny." Before she could respond, he said, "Then again, it's just as well. Especially if the cancer comes back. Least Mikey would still be around."

Lindsay clasped his hand. "Michael isn't you."

Suddenly, Brian laughed. "Christ, we're pathetic. How did we end up like this?" Alone, he meant. 

"Mel and I will be okay and Justin will be back before you know it."

Just not soon enough, he thought. 

 

"How's your collarbone?"

"Doctor says I'll be out of this torture device in a couple of weeks."

"Maybe I'll come home then and we can celebrate properly."

Trying not to get his hopes up too high, Brian replied rather nonchalantly, "Sounds good to me."

"Brian?"

"Hmm?"

"I’m so fuckin' horny my cock feels like it's a foot long."

Brian's pulse began to speed up. He was already semi-hard just from talking to Justin. "Go out and find someone to take care of it then."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Been with anybody else?"

"I've got a busted up collarbone, I'm not really up to any strenuous activity."

"And once you're all healed?"

"You'll be here." He hoped. 

"And if I'm not?"

"Justin… what do you want me to say? That I won't go out tricking? You know I can't promise you that. I won't promise you that." Not now he couldn’t. Maybe someday. Maybe. He just didn't know. 

"I know."

He could hear the pain in Justin's voice, the ache that gripped you when you settled for less than you wanted. "Justin?"

"Hmm?"

"I promise I won't let anyone else in our bed. In our place."

"No tricks in the loft?"

"None." He could do that, could make that promise. 

"But it's your home."

"And yours. Even though you haven't moved in yet." 

"I will. When I get back for good, I'm moving in."

"Good." He hoped Justin could hear the joy in his voice. "Then we can stop having phone sex."

"Who's having phone sex?"

Brian's voice lowered in register, sounding husky. "What are you wearing?"

"Nothing."

"Good boy. You get an A+."

"What about you?"

"I'm always naked." Even when he was wearing clothes. Brian could see Justin licking his lips, wanting to wrap them around Brian's cock. Justin was a born cocksucker and the cock he loved to suck the most belonged to his partner. Stroking himself, Brian asked Justin what he was doing.

"Rubbing my cock."

"Nice and slow?"

"Yeah."

Justin loved it when Brian fisted him, starting off with long, slow strokes that built in speed and intensity as Justin's cock throbbed. "Are you hard?"

"As a rock."

Justin had the most beautiful cock. Perfectly shaped and just the right size. Especially when it was hard and leaking, pisshole gaping open and shiny with precum. "See any juice yet?"

"Not yet. You?"

Brian looked down at his dick. Precum was already beading up from the tip. Justin used to smear his face in Brian's precum, lapping at the head, sucking it from the source. "It's dripping down my cock." He heard Justin moan. "I wish you were here to lick it up."

"Me too." 

"Nobody sucks dick like you do. You make me so fuckin' hard just feeling your tongue in my slit."

Justin gasped and Brian knew he was probably arching his back as he stroked his cock. Brian remembered the time he came home early and found Justin naked on the bed, jacking off, legs spread wide open and back curved as he fucked his fist. It had almost made Brian come in his pants. Instead, he'd laid down between Justin's thighs and sucked him off. "Brian…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm getting wet."

"Smear it all over your dick."

"It feels amazing."

"That's it. I want you to squeeze your cock head and pop open that hole." He heard Justin groan and knew he was complying with Brian's request. "Now, take your other hand and play in it. Play in your hole. Doesn't it feel good?"

"Yes."

"All that juice making it nice and slick. Taste it."

"Oh fuck."

"Get your lips wet." Brian could see Justin's shiny lips and could pretend that they were wet from sucking his cock. "Rub your balls too. Rub them the way I would all nice and slow. Make you feel so good."

"So good..."

Justin's voice was so faint, Brian knew he couldn't last much longer. Of course, his own balls were aching to release. Well, ball. Still, they felt good when he rubbed them together even if one was artificial. In any case, he was going to blow soon. But first he had to get Justin off. "You still bubbling?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to get your finger wet, then get on your knees and stick your finger up your ass." 

"Christ!"

"Pretend that it's me. Pretend that I'm there and I'm pushing my finger up your hole You do it?"

"Uh—yeah."

Brian could see it, could see Justin's finger disappearing between his perfectly shaped cheeks, sliding up into his pink hole. "Mmm… I wish I were there. I would open you up with my fingers and then I would eat out your ass. Stick my tongue in your hole and fuck it." His hand moved faster, squeezing his cock head between strokes. "Play in your ass until you went crazy and then I'd suck your dick. Hard. Suck you until you screamed. Suck your fuckin' cock until you exploded."

"Brian! Oh! Oh, God! Oh!"

Brian could hear Justin's mattress squeaking as the teen bounced on it, working over his cock and ass. "Come for me. Come on. I want to suck the cum from your balls."

"Yes! Yes!" A pause. "Yes…"

Brian jerked on his cock and came, lines of cum streaking his belly and chest. He ran his hand through his spunk, smearing it on his skin, imagining Justin licking him clean. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Fuck, that was good. I almost shot off over my head."

"Just what the twinkie ordered."

"I can't wait to feel you inside me. I'm tired of that fuckin' dildo."

"Won't be long now."

"Too long."

Sensing that Justin was about to turn maudlin, Brian brought their conversation to a close. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Late. We've got a lot of shit to do."

"Later."

"Later."

Brian hung up, relieved yet a little disappointed that Justin hadn't told him that he loved him. Ever since their parting in the airport, Brian had been afraid that Justin would demand frequent protestations of his love but the teen seemed satisfied just to have heard him halfway say he loved him just once. 

God, how many weeks until Justin came home?

 

After almost eight weeks of wearing that damned sling, he was finally free. And Justin was coming home this Friday to help celebrate. Brian intended to keep his partner very busy during their all too brief weekend together. Of course, they'd have to contend with the family but that was okay too. Justin would need a break to recover from the intense fuck sessions Brian had planned. The shower, the chaise, the bed, the pillows on the floor… Brian's dick twitched at the thought of all the different places and different ways they'd fuck. With a smile on his face, he pushed through the diner door and joined his friends at the counter. 

"What are you grinning about?" Deb asked. "Oh, wait, let me guess. Justin."

Emmett peeked down at Brian's lap. "Whoa. I'm surprised you haven't poked your eye out with that thing." 

Brian just continued to smile. "All right, just so you bozos know the plan, you are not to show up at the loft looking for Justin at any point during the weekend. We'll make an appearance at Deb's late Saturday afternoon and you can ask him all the questions you want then about LaLa Land."

"You guys aren't coming out Friday night?" asked Michael.

"We've seen Babylon and Woody's."

"He's seen your dick too but I bet he'll see that again Friday night," his best friend retorted.

"See it, taste it, smell it, and feel it."

Ted threw down a fry. "Thanks a lot, asshole."

Sliding Brian's lunch in front of him, Deb said, "You two are staying for dinner Saturday night." Not a question, a command.

"Yes, Mother. Justin's ass is gonna need a rest after Saturday morning," he bragged. 

"That all you ever think about? Fucking?"

He pretended to think about something else, then laughed. "Sorry, Justin's ass is too much of a distraction." 

"Well," she said, popping her gum, "I'm just glad to see you smile again, kiddo. Now, eat. You look like you've lost ten pounds since Justin's been gone. I don't want him to think we haven't been taking good care of you."

 

Cynthia handed Brian a folder and studied him for a moment. "You almost look human. I can't wait until Justin comes."

"Me neither," he smirked.

"So, are you gonna go out there the next time?"

"Probably. I haven't been to LA in years. Justin can show me the sights."

"Is that a euphemism for his ass?"

"Best sight there is."

 

Before he could answer his cell, he had to put down the bags of groceries in his hands. If he wanted Justin to spend most of the weekend in the loft, he had to have enough food to keep him satisfied. Justin, unlike Brian, couldn’t live on sex alone. Once his hands were free, Brian opened his cell. Justin. "Hey. Please tell me you're not here yet." He had a lot of shit left to do before everything would be ready.

"I'm not there yet."

"You at the airport?"

"No."

It was getting late. "On your way to the airport?"

"Brian…"

Something was wrong. Brian sat on a bar stool. "What's up?"

"I can't come."

"I was hoping to hear that only after we'd fucked a few dozen times."

"I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"Brett's freakin' out about one of the set pieces. Wants all these major changes before his meeting with the producer Monday morning." 

Brian was silent for a while. Then, "Your work comes first."

"No. You do."

"Guess that's why you're out in LA and I'm here. Cause I'm so important," he barked.

"Brian—"

"Forget it. I didn't mean it." He twisted his lips. "Look, we'll reschedule. Maybe I'll come out there instead."

"I'm really sorry."

"I know."

"I wanted to see you so badly."

"The guys and Deb'll be disappointed. Your mom too."

"What about you?"

He started to say something smart-assed about Jennifer not accepting him as a substitute for Justin but he didn't. He knew what Justin was asking. "I really wanted to see you this weekend." Gestured with his arm. "Got the sling off and everything."

"Feel okay?"

"Feels great."

"Well… I gotta go. I just took a break to call you."

"Okay."

"Brian… I love you."

"You too." He closed his phone and laid it down gently on the countertop although what he really wanted to do was to hurl it at the wall. 

 

Deb glanced up as Brian came through the front door. "Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be home fucking by now."

"Something came up. Justin… Justin can't come." He perched on the arm of the sofa. 

"Well, shit. I bet he hates that."

"Yeah."

"Bet you hate it too."

"Not all that often that I get stood up." One of the benefits of never having dated. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He pushed off the chair. "Gotta go."

"Heading for Woody's or Babylon?"

"Home." He paused. He didn't much feel like the noise but, then again, he didn't much feel like going home to an empty apartment either. 

"You eat yet?"

"Nope."

Deb took his arm. "Carl's coming home in a bit. Stay and have dinner."

He shook his head. "I don't want to… interrupt anything." Just thinking about hetero sex made him feel a little queasy. 

"We're having cannelloni not cunnilingus." 

"Deb," grimaced Brian, "please. My stomach's upset enough."

Pushing him down on the sofa, she went and returned with a glass of red wine. Sat down next to him. "You know," she said softly as he sipped the wine, "he'll be back."

Brian studied the contents of the glass. Swirled the wine gently. "Why the fuck would he come back? There's nothing for him here."

"You're here."

"He could have anyone he wants."

"He wants you." She brushed his hair back from his face the way she used to when he was a boy. "He loves you more than anything in this world."

"Maybe he shouldn't."

"Maybe not. But he does." 

Her words gave him no comfort because he knew that sometimes love wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough to keep Justin from leaving with Ian; it hadn't been enough to keep him from going out to LA no matter how short of a time; and it might not be enough to bring him home again. And if that happened… "I don't know what I'd do without him," he said, suddenly embarrassed that he'd spoken the sentiment aloud. 

"You won't have to," she told him. "Now," she said, standing up, "I gotta go check on dinner."

As Deb bustled around in the kitchen, Brian went upstairs to the room Michael had grown up in, to the room Justin had lived in for a while, and closed the door behind him. Looked around at the tacky wallpaper and the message board with a picture of he and Mikey pinned to it. Everything had changed. He was no longer fourteen, needing a place to hide to escape from his horrible family; Justin was no longer a scared teenager wanting someone to save him. This room was no longer a safe haven from the world. 

Being in here again, he remembered coming up to talk to Justin, to find out why the teen had come to Deb's. Justin had told him that he was waiting for Brian and then he'd dropped to his knees and blown Brian like a man. And Brian had let him. It had been too late even then. Too late since the moment they'd espied one another outside of Babylon. 

So it was definitely too late to start making contingency plans now. He'd lost his heart to Justin and there was no going back, no point in regretting anything. Hearing Deb's raucous greeting to Carl, Brian took a last look around the room, then left, closing the door behind him.


	3. At the Crossroads

Solo showers, breakfast with the guys, ten-hour days at Kinnetik, take-out in front of the television or at the computer, then bed; his days had taken on a mind- and body-numbing sameness. Even Justin's nightly calls weren't enough to break the monotony. Especially since they didn't occur nightly. Sometimes days went by before he heard from his lover. Always with the excuse that he'd been working day and night on "Rage". It wasn't that Brian didn't believe him, it was that he was tired of sleeping alone, watching television alone, eating alone, and being alone. He wanted Justin with him, not all the way out on the West fuckin' Coast. 

Their last conversation had been tense, with him losing his temper and hanging up on Justin only to realize what he'd done and to speed dial him back and apologize. Afterwards he'd laid in bed trying to figure out how to deal with the situation as it was quickly becoming untenable. 

Today, while he sat in his office ostensibly going over some copy for a magazine ad, he made a decision. Bypassing his assistant, he went online and looked at flights to LA. If the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed would take a red eye to the mountain. 

After he'd made his reservations—first-class, of course—he called Cynthia into his office and told her he was taking a few days off starting Wednesday. Even if Justin had to work business hours, it'd be worth wandering around alone days if he could spend evenings and nights with his partner. 

"Well, I'm glad," Cynthia said after she heard his news. "You looked like you were about one handjob away from a nervous breakdown."

"Just clear my calendar, would you? And anything that can't wait until next Monday you or Theodore can handle." He had come to rely on his friend and his assistant a great deal. He'd have to think about suitable rewards. They'd both moved beyond their original job descriptions and had assumed a lot of responsibility for the actual running of the company. With or without him there. "Hey," he said as she headed out of his office, "you want anything from LA?"

"Owen Wilson?"

He shook his head. "Did you see 'Shanghai Knights'?" 

Laughing, she said, "You have to admit, 'Starsky & Hutch' was pretty funny." 

Sighing, he confessed, "Justin asked me who the two guys were at the end of the movie. He didn't know there had been a television show."

"That's what you get, robbing the cradle," she called out as she pushed through the glass door out into the hallway. 

"Bitch," he growled and then turned back to the ad copy.

 

As he boarded the airplane for his flight to Los Angeles, Brian wondered if he was doing the right thing by not telling Justin he was coming. He didn't have long to think about the consequences of his actions as it was late and he was tired and he fell asleep soon after buckling up and reclining the seat. 

He awoke as the plane began its descent into the city. In an hour or so, he'd be at Justin's. Despite the early hour, he hoped he didn't miss him or he'd have to track him down at the studio. Then again, he could probably talk Brett's staff into letting him into the guest house to crash until Justin returned. Or, he could just call Justin on his cell now to let him know he was here. Which would ruin his surprise. Of course, Brian being in LA period would be a big enough surprise for Justin. Brian hoped it would be a good surprise. He hadn't given a thing away last night when he'd talked to Justin and Justin had mentioned that he missed Brian terribly and it had been over a month since they'd seen one another. Fuck it, he was here now. No point in second guessing himself. 

Picking up his bag from the luggage carrel, he made his way to Ground Transportation and hailed a cab. He would have gotten a rental car but he figured Brett had vehicles enough and, if they couldn’t use one of his, then there'd be time for them to rent one later. Suit bag tossed on the seat next to him, Brian gave the driver the address and settled down for a long ride.

They arrived at the house much sooner than he'd expected. Paying the driver, Brian spoke into the callbox at the gate to the main house and gave the guy who answered his name and told him he was here to see Justin. After a few minutes, he was buzzed through. Someone met him near the house and directed him down a path. He'd only gotten a few yards down the walkway when Justin came tearing around a corner and leapt into his arms. Luckily, Brian had heard his footfalls and had put down his suit bag. Wrapping his arms around his lover, he twirled him about as they kissed. "I guess you missed me," Brian laughed when they parted for air and he put the teen down.

"Asshole," said Justin, hitting him on the belly. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Cause a surprise only works if the suprisee doesn't know anything about the surprise." 

Grabbing Brian's arm, Justin stood on his tiptoes and kissed him hard again. "God, I missed you." He tugged on his sleeve. "Come on." 

"Your place?"

"My place."

They fairly ran down the sidewalk to the backyard where the guesthouse was located. Justin opened the front door and was about to walk through when he was snatched back. Brian threw his suit bag inside then picked Justin up and carried him over the threshold. Laughing, Justin pushed the door closed and whispered directions to the bedroom in his lover's ear. 

 

From the hollow of Brian's throat to his shoulder, Justin traced the line of his collarbone. "Does it hurt any?"

"Good as new," Brian replied. It hadn't even bothered him while they were making love. Of course, he'd been lifting weights for weeks, slowly building up his strength but this had been the first major test of his newly healed bone. 

Justin placed a kiss on his shoulder and then settled down on his chest, arms wrapped around Brian's tight torso.

"What about work?"

"Fuck it," Justin murmured.

"Justin." Sometimes he had to remind the boy of his responsibilities.

Groaning, Justin raised up and felt around on the nightstand for his cellphone. He laid back in Brian's arms waiting for his party to pick up. "Hey. Jack. Justin. Listen, you think you could cover for me for a few hours? Brian's in town. Yeah," he laughed, "that Brian. The one and only," he said, absentmindedly stroking Brian's arm with his free hand. "Thanks, Jack. I owe you." He laughed again. "Yeah." Closed his cell and tossed it on the nightstand. 

"So how long do we have?"

"All day," said Justin, turning in his arms and moving so that their heads were aligned. They kissed, Brian's hands following the curve of Justin's spine to rest on his ass before gently kneading his cheeks. Justin sighed. "I missed that."

"Missed you," Brian said between kisses. He felt Justin's hand slip between them, soon his fingers curled around Brian's cock. "Christ," he whispered as Justin tugged him. 

Justin kissed his way down Brian's chest, teasing his nipples and navel. "Your skin is so soft," he told him brushing his lips over Brian's torso. Placed a kiss on his belly and looked up at him with a slight smile. "You're so beautiful."

"You're biased," Brian said. 

"Uh-huh," said Justin, nuzzling Brian's dick.

"And cock happy."

"Definitely," said the blond and his tongue flicked up the shaft and curled around the head. Before long he had Brian's cock standing upright and was kneeling over it. As he sank down upon it, he moaned. "Yes…" Coming to the base, he rested. 

"Feel good?" Justin could only nod. Brian moved beneath the teen and Justin caught his lip between his teeth. He ran his hands across his chest, pinching his pink nipples; his cock was rising slowly between his thighs. Sliding his hand down his shaft, he jacked his dick with his eyes half-closed. "You are so hot," Brian whispered. He stroked Justin's thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath his palms as Justin moved up and down his erection. A bead of precum appeared at the tip of Justin's cock. Brian watched as it dripped down upon his belly. It turned him on, how wet Justin would get and he loved nothing more than for Justin to straddle his face and drip down on his lips. Brian pressed down on Justin's cock and let go. It bounced up against the teen's belly flinging precum on the both of them. Justin tensed, squeezing Brian inside his hole. 

"Fuck," the young artist gasped. 

Brian caught Justin's cock head between his fingers and massaged it. "I can't wait to suck you off," he purred. 

 

Having played around in the shower wherein Brian sank to his knees and sucked Justin off as promised, they dressed and headed out for lunch. Chalking it up to the aftereffects of having sucked Justin's cock and swallowed a mouthful of delectable cum, Brian agreed to have lunch at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. Since they were planning on doing a little sightseeing in Hollywood today anyway, it seemed a logical choice. At least to Justin. Brian still couldn't believe he'd said yes. Fried chicken and waffles? What the fuck…? 

As long as he was living dangerously, he didn't object either when Justin put the top down on the Boxster he'd borrowed from the garage and then slipped behind the wheel. After all, Justin knew more about getting around the city than he did. Truthfully, Brian was happy to play tourist. The sun was out, he had four days off from work, and his beautiful boy was by his side. Looking over at his partner, at the strong line of his jaw, Brian smiled. Maybe it was time he started thinking of Justin as a man.

Justin returned his smile. "I still can't believe you're here," he said, cutting his eyes away from the road for a second, then looking ahead again as he negotiated traffic. 

"In the flesh."

"And such amazing flesh too."

Brian slipped a hand over Justin's leg and squeezed his thigh. "You're not too bad yourself."

Laughing, Justin shook his head. "I can't wait for the guys to meet you."

"What guys?" asked Brian, thinking Justin had found a new gang of guys to hang out with even though he hadn't mentioned it during their talks.

"At work. They all think I've made you up."

A crease appeared between Brian's brows. "I thought you had a picture of me."

"I do. They think I've doctored it."

"Assholes."

Defending his co-workers, Justin said, 'You have to admit, you're pretty spectacular."

"Why are you buttering me up?" Brian asked, suddenly suspicious.

Innocently, Justin said, "I'm not. I'm just glad to see you." He raised Brian's hand and kissed his knuckles. "Thanks for coming."

"You already thanked me. This morning. Remember?" smirked Brian. 

"You." Justin chuckled, then pointed out of the window. "That's it."

Seeing the sign which boasted a chicken in front of a waffle, Brian nodded. "Great."

Although it took ten minutes, Justin finally found a parking space. He tugged on Brian's arm. "Come on. You'll love it."

"Do they know you by name in here?"

"Well…" began Justin, a tinge of red creeping up to color his cheeks. 

"You know, you won't always have this freakish metabolism."

"No," Justin agreed. "But I'll always have you to help work off the calories," he said, gazing up at Brian with love in his eyes.

This was why he'd come to LA: to see those eyes, those lips, that smile. Taking hold of Justin's hand, Brian fell silent as they walked to the restaurant. He held open the door and took a deep breath. Christ! What the fuck was that smell? It was… it was heavenly. His mouth started to water immediately. Looking down at Justin, he saw his partner smiling. 

"Told you."

The place was packed but they'd picked the perfect time to come and were shown to the only free table in the joint. The hostess patted Justin on the shoulder. "Good to see you again, baby," she said before leaving them. Justin grinned. 

When the waitress came, Brian surprised Justin by ordering iced tea. "Might as well go whole hog," he said.

"That mean you're getting chicken and waffles?" asked Justin.

"With gravy."

Justin's eyes sparkled. "That's the best kind."

 

"God," said Justin, "people back then had tiny feet." He put his feet in—over really—John Wayne's footprint. 

"I think it's the concrete. They put their feet in, then take them out and the concrete fills in the print a little."

"Oh," Justin said. "I never thought of that."

"I fucked a construction worker once."

"Are there any professions you haven't fucked?" asked Justin with a twinkle in his eye.

"Probably. I usually don't ask them what they do. All I care about is that they do me," he said wickedly. Then, "What a loser," as a Michael Jackson impersonator walked by them. Justin had gotten quiet all of a sudden. At first Brian pretended not to notice but, as the seconds stretched to minutes, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Brian lifted Justin's chin. "Then smile. I came all the way to LA to see you smile."

"You came to get laid," Justin challenged.

"That all you think you are to me? A good lay?"

"I'm the best," bragged Justin.

"Second best," Brian said, correcting him gently. Then he kissed him sweetly, ignoring the looks the breeders around them cast their way. Fuck 'em. "And I didn't come almost three thousand miles just to fuck," he told him. "I came because I missed you. All of you. God help me," he confessed, "I even missed the messes you always managed to make." 

Brian watched as the sun came out again: Justin smiled, then ducked his head sheepishly. "Come on, let's go to WeHo. You know, there's this club there called Rage. How cool is that?"

"You know," Brian began, "I'd rather go back to your place."

Lifting a brow, Justin asked, "Really?"

"We can save WeHo for Friday night. Okay?"

"Okay." 

 

Wanting more privacy than a restaurant could provide, Brian and Justin had Brett's chef whip up something light and delicious for dinner which they ate poolside. 

"I can't believe even the fuckin' guesthouse has a pool," Brian griped.

"Don't hate him because he's rich."

"Well, don't get too accustomed to this," Brian told him, "because we're not quite at the mansion stage."

"What stage are we at?"

Brian recognized fishing when he heard it. "We're at the 'living in the loft together' stage. That is, if you ever come home," he added, looking down at his plate so as not to see Justin's expression when he protested Brian's comment. But the protest didn't come, which worried Brian. "Justin?"

"Brian… we need to talk."

Willing his pulse to stop racing, Brian asked as calmly as he could, "About what?"

"I've met all these really amazing people in LA and… the work that I'm doing… it's, I can't explain it. I wake up wanting to go to work every day." 

Just talking about it made his face light up. Brian could see how much it meant to Justin and he prepared himself for the worst. 

"They have an awesome animation program at USC. Some of the guys working on Rage went there."

Brian's jaw tightened and he wished he was anywhere else in the world but here. "What does that mean?"

Justin shook his head. "I don't know."

"Fuck it, Justin. Don't—don't fuck with me. Tell me."

"I'm thinking about staying here," he said softly. "I think it might be good for me."

"How?" It was all he could manage to say.

"The work, the connections… 'Rage' would get me a foot in the door but there's so much more to learn and I can't learn it in Pitts. And…" He paused as if afraid to say what was on his mind.

"What?" Brian swallowed, then put a hand over his mouth. Maybe it'd be enough. 

"I feel like I'm my own person out here. Back in Pitts, I'm "and Justin," I'm part of you. Nobody thinks about me unless it's as part of a pair. Here, I have my own friends, people who are interested in the things I do—"

"You're saying I'm not? You're saying the guys aren't? Deb isn't?"

"No, just—it's different."

Abruptly, Brian stood. He hadn't planned to, he just did but, once he was up, he didn't know where to go.

"Brian…"

"Don't," he said, running his fingers through his hair. In an instant, he knew he had to go. Ignoring Justin's questions, he went into the guesthouse and began packing his bags. He hadn't brought much, for which he was grateful.

"Please," said Justin, coming in behind him, "we need to talk."

Brian ignored him. Maybe if he kept ignoring him, he'd leave him the hell alone.

"Brian? Can't we talk about this?"

The rage inside him ignited. "Talk about what!" he bellowed and he saw, with satisfaction, how Justin flinched and moved away from him. Brian began to laugh, haltingly, as if he could barely catch his breath. "You couldn't even wait until Saturday or Sunday, could you? I fly all the way across the fuckin' country and you couldn't wait two days." 

"I wanted to," said Justin, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

"Don't you fucking cry!" Brian yelled. "How the fuck?" he began, then stopped. Squeezed his eyes shut. But he could feel them, the tears burning behind his lids. "Fuck." He plopped down on the bed and dug the heels of his hands in his eyes. "Fuck," he said again, then covered his face. After a moment, he sniffled, then stood, threw his suit bag over his arm and pushed past Justin.

"Brian, please, don't go."

"Why the hell do you care? You've already pushed me away." He paused in the doorway. "I hope you… I hope you find what you're looking for." Barely able to see where he was going, he was glad it was but a short walk to the main house and out the front gate. Leaning against the wall, he took out his cell and called for a cab. 

 

He dropped his suit bag on the bed and stood staring at the room seeing nothing, not the elegant appointments, the luxurious bed, the fantastic view, nothing. For the longest time he just stood there, mind blank, and then he whipped out his cellphone and flipped it open. Dialed a familiar number. Justin answered immediately. 

"Brian?"

"I'm at the Crowne Plaza. I've decided to stay in town until Sunday. We should talk. But not tonight." He was too fuckin' tired to do anything tonight. 

"Okay."

"Come by tomorrow after work."

"All right." Justin paused. "Brian. I know it doesn’t seem like I do but I love you."

"You're right," he said, "it doesn't seem like you do." He hung up, tossed the phone on the bed, and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.


	4. At the Crossroads

He half expected Justin to show up in the morning before work but after waiting until ten, Brian realized that he'd gone to work after all. It figured. Hadn't he told Brian the night before how important his work was to him? What was a little thing like a relationship compared to fuckin' work? How could he compete with "Rage"? He was only a man, imperfect despite his extensive press to the contrary. Rage was every gay boy's dream, he was certainly Justin's. They had come full circle. 

In the beginning, Rage had come between them, Justin's work with Mikey playing on Brian's insecurities and jealousies. He didn't do jealousy, that's what he always said and, yet, it had burned white hot that night he'd come home and found Michael in his bed, arm around Justin's waist. He'd done something stupid, something so incredibly hurtful that it had surprised him that Mikey and Justin had forgiven him. Actually, he'd been certain that Michael would; he hadn't been that sure about Justin and the look the teen had given him even after Brian had apologized let him know that he was skating on thin ice as far as he was concerned. His eyes had been so hard, like blue diamonds and Brian had felt a hitch in his chest. An omen of things to come.

Now he was sitting in a hotel room in Beverly Hills sipping a cup of extra strong coffee and wondering if the end had finally arrived. After numerous missteps and mistakes, arguments and absences, they seemed to have come to the crossroads of their relationship. 

His words to Deb hadn't been a lie, he didn't know what he'd do without Justin. Eight months were one thing, a lifetime… it was something he didn't want to think about. But he had to. It was a very real possibility. And then what would he do? The loft already seemed unbearably empty without the teen; how would he fill his home, his life if Justin didn't come back? 

Putting aside those thoughts, he got out his cell and called Lindsay. He knew she'd be at the gallery, probably just getting back from lunch. More than likely she'd picked something up from the diner and eaten it at the gallery. She'd become a lot like him: driven. Yet she still found time to be a good mom to Gus. 

"Hello?" she said, picking up on the second ring.

"Hey."

"Brian! I didn't think I'd hear from you until you got back." He'd let her know his plans, in case of emergencies.

"I was about to head out to Rodeo Drive. Any requests?" Better to keep it light, to keep the conversation away from him and Justin if possible. 

"Bri?"

He guessed his attempt at pretending everything was fine had already failed. Something in his voice, he imagined, had given him away. Still, he persisted. "Coco Chanel? Versace?"

As did she. "Everything all right?"

Wanting to lie to her, wanting to pretend that he was out in LA having the time of his life, he found that he couldn't. It hurt too much, especially when, in reality, things were close to being completely fucked up. "No," he replied. "Everything's not all right. But I can't talk about it now," he said, heading off further questions, he hoped. 

"Okay." She seemed to accept his plea. "But if you need me…"

"I know," he told her. "Thanks, Lindz." 

Answering his previous question, the supposed 'reason' he'd called, she said, "Maybe you can pick up something for Gus. He's been asking for you."

"I've only been gone a day."

"He's gotten used to hearing his daddy's voice at night." 

Brian had begun calling him most evenings to say goodnight before the toddler went to bed. He hadn't last night as he'd been busy at the time wondering how everything had gotten shot to hell. "I'll see what I can find," he promised. Just about to say goodbye, he heard Lindsay take a deep breath and he readied himself for the dose of advice he'd really called to solicit.

"Bri… he loves you." And, unspoken, was that Brian loved him. "No matter what, remember that."

"What if it doesn't matter?" he asked, afraid of her answer.

"It always does. Even if it takes a while to realize it."

Ringing off, he showered and put on a pair of jeans and his loden green silk sweater, the one Justin said brought out the mossy flecks in his eyes, and headed for the heart of Beverly Hills. Maybe some mad shopping would take his mind off his problems. 

 

Dropping his bags into the chair next to him, Brian sat down and flipped open the menu. With no particular place in mind, he'd stopped at the first restaurant he'd come across. Surprisingly, there weren't a lot of eateries on Rodeo Drive. It didn't really matter, he wasn't hungry but he hadn't eaten all day and he didn't know of he'd get the chance this evening or if he'd even want to eat after he and Justin had talked. More than likely all he'd want to do would be to crawl into the nearest bar and drink himself into a stupor. He didn't hold high hopes for the outcome of their discussion. Justin was impulsive, he'd always been that way. His impulsiveness had brought him out to Liberty Avenue in the first place, brought him to Brian's apartment, kept him in Brian's life even after he'd been rejected more times than a normal person should have been able to withstand. Impulsiveness and stubbornness and a persistence that was legendary. 

"May I bring you something to drink, sir?"

Brian looked up into the dark green eyes of the waiter standing on the other side of his table. A smile played at the corners of the man's mouth and Brian found himself smiling back. Any other time he would have suggested that they meet in the Men's Room but not today. "Long Island Iced Tea. Thanks." He turned his attention back to the menu although he didn’t see any of the words written there.

Normally spending an obscene amount of money on clothes would have put him in a good mood but not today. Despite the plethora of credit card receipts in his wallet and the number of bags strewn on the chair and floor beside him, he was far from content. Not that anyone could tell. He'd been managing pain for so long that he could do it on automatic pilot—even without drugs and vast amounts of alcohol. At the first sign of trouble, he'd shut down and present an unassailable façade to the world while, on the inside, he was slowly coming apart and no one would be the wiser. Except for Mikey and Lindsay. And Justin. 

"I'm onto you," he'd said and, for a while, he'd been able to read Brian, to know when he was being handed a load of shit. Then, after the bashing, that Justin had retreated and another had emerged, one that hadn't been able to look beyond the surface of Brian's actions. That Justin had slipped away from him into the arms of the fiddler and Brian had mourned not only the loss of his lover but the loss of the Justin he had met that night beneath a street light. But Justin had returned eventually, older and wiser and a little less shiny; still he'd been Brian's beautiful blond boy. On the outside. On the inside, Justin had become a man, a man with principles and needs and ambitions that, apparently, weren't being met. 

The movement of an arm sliding a glass onto the table shook him from his reveries. 

"Thank you," he said, even though he couldn't remember what it was he'd ordered.

"Have you decided what you'd like to eat this afternoon?"

"No," replied Brian, rubbing the outside of the glass of tea. In fact, he hadn't given it any thought. "What do you recommend?" He didn't listen to the man's answer, it wouldn’t have mattered if the waiter had suggested corned beef and hash, something he'd come to despise having had it so much as a kid. "Great. I'll have that then." He smiled absently and handed the waiter the unread menu. Sipped his tea. 

 

The afternoon had worn on despite having passed too quickly. He dreaded the conversation he'd have with Justin but they needed to talk, he needed to find out what was on Justin's mind, if they had a prayer of staying together or if this was it, the last hurrah. Once upon a time, it would have been easier to have just given up, gotten on a plane and flown home. He no longer had that option and, yet, there was the chance that he'd be hurt far worse by fighting for their relationship. Christ. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd protested his disbelief in relationships and here he was, mourning the possible end of his. 

"Please," he whispered in the empty room and wiped his eyes. The tears had come unexpectedly, scouring his cheeks and leaving acid trails across his heart. 

He jumped at the knock on the door. "Yeah," he called out before ducking into the bathroom to check his appearance. He threw some water on his face, then dried it off. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to find Justin standing on the other side of the threshold. Just yesterday morning he'd carried Justin over the threshold of the guesthouse. "Hey."

"Hey."

Standing aside, he gestured towards the interior of the room. 

"This is nice."

"It'll do." He ran his hand over the back of the sofa in the sitting area. "Have a seat."

"I thought we were going out to dinner."

"You want to talk about this in a restaurant full of people?"

Justin looked down as he sat. "No, not really." He inhaled, then exhaled noisily. "I don’t want to talk about this at all."

"Well, you brought it up."

"Maybe I was wrong."

"It's too late now. Can't take it back." Brian sat in an armchair. "So what's going on?"

"I don't know."

Angrily, Brian growled, "Justin—" He stopped abruptly, then added, "This isn't a game." Brian gave them both a moment before he asked, "Did you mean it? Do you want to stay here?"

"I think so."

Softly, Brian asked, "What about me?" Christ, that was something he'd never had to ask before. He'd always known where he fit in, even if it was being the bad guy, the asshole, the unwanted child. 

"I want you to stay with me."

Relief warred with incredulity. "What about Kinnetik?"

"You could run Kinnetik from anywhere."

"And the people who work for me? What about them? What about Cynthia and Ted? I just hand them their pink slip and severance pay and say, 'Adios, amigos' ?" 

"Cynthia would come with you."

Probably. She'd love it out in LaLa Land where being blond was a way of life. "And Ted?"

"He'll find something else, he always bounces back." 

It amazed him how little people knew about one another. No one knew better than he did just how difficult Ted's journey back to the land of the living had been. Having lost everything, he'd done the impossible and not only survived but thrived. And now Justin wanted to take that away from him. But there was someone else whose welfare mattered more to Brian. "And what about Gus? I'm just supposed to leave him?"

"It's not like you're a full-time dad anyway—"

"Fuck you, Justin!" The force of his anger propelled him from his seat and he paced the floor, hampered by the abundant furniture and close quarters.

"Brian?" 

"I talk to him every night on the phone before he goes to sleep. And I see him at least once a week, sometimes more. But you wouldn't know that because you haven't been home for the past two months. You've been out here playing in the sunshine and being a 'staah'."

"Brian… I didn't mean… I'm sorry."

He gave free rein to his anger and to the frustration that had been building in him ever since Justin had told him he was going to LA. "I don't know why I fuckin' bother. All of you, you'll all tripping over yourselves, telling me what a lousy father I am, what a lousy partner I am, nothing I do is ever good enough, I'm never a good enough friend or a good enough son—well, fuck you." He went over to the closet and got out his suit bag. "You stay here and live your life, I'm going home."

"Please." Justin tugged on his arm. "I know Gus is important to you, I know how much you love him."

"Then how could you ask me to leave him?"

"Because I know that you love me too." Brian looked aside. "And I love you."

"Justin…" He was so close that Brian could smell the light aftershave he used only sparingly as he rarely had to shave, he was so very fair. As always it went to his head, the light scent of the aftershave commingled with Justin's unique aroma, the smell of innocence, of seduction. How many times had he dragged Justin from the bathroom sink in the loft and ravished him, unable to contain himself? 

"Yesterday was so perfect and I… I wanted it to always be like that."

"It can be. At home." Even as he said it, he knew that it wouldn't, it couldn't be but that didn't mean it couldn't be just as good. 

"And if it can't?"

"Then we don’t have anything worth fighting about or for." Brian watched Justin's eyes shift, knew he was coming up with a different strategy, waited for him to speak. 

"What about my work?"

"You can be an artist anywhere."

"The studios are here."

"Then don't work for a studio. Work for yourself." The ultimate enticement. He knew that, deep down, Justin really wanted to stay at home and work on his own art instead of slaving away in some animation studio no matter how fancy the computers and computer software were so he knew that another change in strategy was coming. 

"Brian… it's not just about the work. You said it yourself, everyone's always watching you, waiting for you to fail. I feel the same way. This could be a new start for us, away from all that shit. We could be the people we were meant to be."

Hadn't Justin learned anything from his aborted relationship with Ian? "Running away isn't the answer. I thought you knew that."

"It's not running away! It's giving ourselves room to breathe."

No matter what, Justin would try to put a different spin on what he was doing. There was no point in arguing about it anymore. "Maybe you're right. Maybe that's what we need."

"Then you'll—"

Before a smile could stretch itself across Justin's lips, Brian said, "I think I should go home."

"What?" 

"And I think… we shouldn't see each other until you're done here." He turned his back to Justin. "You need time to figure out what it is you want."

"I want you!"

The intensity of Justin's words made Brian face him again. Calling on all of his self-control, he said, "I'll be in Pitts if you decide to come home."

"So that's it? End of discussion?"

"This isn't a discussion, this is us saying the same things over and over again and getting nowhere."

"Then why don't you try listening to me for a change!"

There might have been some truth to Justin's accusation. "All right, I'm listening."

"I've loved you for so long, I don't know if I can live without you." He paused and Brian wondered if Justin would recant his earlier demands and promise to return to Pittsburgh after his work on the movie was done. "But… I would try if I had to."

There, that was what he'd been waiting to hear. He'd been worried that maybe he had underestimated Justin's strength but he hadn't. Justin would be all right, even if they weren't together. Now he could go. "Then I think it's best if I don't do this again."

"And when I come home to see my mom and Molly?"

"The Pitts is a big enough city. We don't have to run into one another." Especially now that Justin wouldn't be working at the diner so that every time Brian went in for a meal, he had to face his failure. 

"What if I want to run into you?"

"Only if you're staying." He had to make it clear to Justin that there were conditions he had to meet. They couldn't do things half-assed anymore. 

"I thought you once said there were no locks on our doors?"

"Things change. People too," he added. Especially him. Justin had helped change him and now Justin was leaving him.

"Not really. You're still pushing me off cliffs."

"I'm giving you a fuckin' choice!" It's all he'd ever done, it wasn't his fault if people chose the wrong option. 

"No. You're refusing to take a stand, refusing to say how you feel."

"You know how I feel, goddamnit, don't pretend that you don't." 

"Maybe I want to hear it!"

It always came down to that, to wanting to hear the words no matter how much he did for Justin, how much he showed him just how he felt, Justin wanted him to say it. "You think I'd be here begging you to come back if I didn't love you!" Brian warded off Justin's approach. "Don't. Just… don't."

"Then why can't you wait for me?"

"What the fuck do you think I'll be doing?" Looking for a new partner? He'd never even looked for one at all, Justin had fallen in his lap and then proceeded to grip him around the neck so tightly Brian had felt faint around him all the goddamn time. 

"I feel like you've already given up on us."

Chuckling bitterly, Brian asked, "What do you want me to say?" He surrendered. If Justin wanted words, he'd give him words.

"That this isn't the end."

He could agree, he could do that much without losing his fuckin' mind. "All right."

"Come back to the guesthouse?"

And do what? Make love and try to forget that they were coming apart at the seams, that the love they'd carelessly stitched together over the years had finally begun to show their faulty workmanship? "Justin—"

"Please." Blue eyes pleading.

Wordlessly, Brian began to pack.

 

Two hours later he was standing at a window in the guesthouse's bedroom, smoking, and trying to figure out if the stars out in LA were the same stars in Pitts. They'd fucked and, from the outside, maybe it might have appeared that they'd made love but they knew the difference. They'd always known the difference. That difference had kept Justin coming back all those years ago despite Brian's numerous denials. 

"This isn't working, is it?" This attempt to pretend that they'd solved anything. 

He glanced around at the sound of his partner's voice and smiled sadly. "Might have been too much to ask for."

"I didn't mean for things to end up like this." Justin sat up in bed, the sheet draped lightly over his lower body. 

"I know."

"I love you."

Brian stubbed out his cigarette and returned to bed. "I'm leaving in the morning."

Justin covered his face. "God, I fucked up."

"You were honest with me. That's all I've ever asked." Michael had known, that time when he'd revealed that Justin was sneaking around behind Brian's back, he'd known that the one thing Brian valued was honesty. 

"It's not all that I promised."

"That's why I never do."

"But I meant the things that I said."

"I know you did." He knew Justin loved him, knew that he wanted to be with him, but he also knew that Justin wanted other things that seemed diametrically opposed to honoring that love and commitment.

"Do you… do you still love me?" But before Brian could respond, Justin shook his head. "Don't answer that. Fuck." He rubbed his face. "It's no good like this and I know that you're right, that we need some time apart to think things through but I don't want to lose you."

"You know where to find me."

"And what if I lose myself in the process?"

"That's the risk you take." The risk he had taken once he'd finally admitted to himself that he loved Justin, that he wanted the young man by his side. 

"Love, huh?" laughed Justin. "Did you? Lose yourself?"

"A little. Maybe I needed to." The man who hated change admitting to having been changed. He smiled. "Still an asshole though."

Justin raised his hand to his lips and kissed Brian's knuckles. "Part of your charm."

 

"Don't forget to call Gus. He misses you." They were standing on the concourse in LAX, off to the side, out of the way of the tangled mass of people scurrying about to get from point A to point Z. 

"I miss him too. My drawing buddy."

"He's been drawing puppies." At least Lindsay had assured him that’s what the brown and white blobs were. 

"Lindsay close to giving in?"

"Stuffed animal. That's it. I'm not cleaning up dog shit." The loft had never had an animal in it as long as he'd owned it and he intended to keep it that way. Although some of the tricks he'd brought home over the years had only been a couple of chromosomes away from the lower primates. 

"It'd be their dog."

"Eventually, I have to clean up everything."

"Other people's messes." Justin hadn't missed the deeper meaning. 

"This is our mess," Brian assured him. 

"This didn't turn out the way I wanted it to."

With a smile, Brian said, "If we knew how things would turn out, we'd be scared shitless."

"Would you have taken me home that night, if you had known?"

"Probably." He grinned. "I was pretty horny."

"Me too." Justin's face brightened with the memory. "I thought I was gonna come right there when you walked over to me."

"Would have been a waste of some first-class cream."

Justin's nose wrinkled in amusement. "You say the sweetest things."

"Would you have gone home with me? If you had known?" 

"In a heartbeat."

That Justin still felt that way after everything they'd gone through: the bashing and Ian and Stockwell and cancer, it made Brian ache for him. "We have to fix this," he said as he pulled Justin into his arms and held him tight. He could feel his partner's heart beating, racing against his own. Brushing his lips over Justin's, he whispered, "Now, go—before you make a fuckin' fool of yourself." 

"Too late."

They pressed foreheads for a moment, the way they'd done months ago in Pittsburgh. "Later."

"Later."

Justin's fingers slipped from his and Brian turned and removed his ticket and his driver's license from his coat pocket.


	5. At the Crossroads

Walking into the diner Monday morning felt like walking onto the dance floor at Justin's prom and he just knew he had that same deer in the headlights look on his face. He'd hidden out all weekend in the loft, ordering takeout when he'd felt like eating, not that he'd eaten very much. Mostly drank himself into a stupor and then slept it off. That was the only way he'd been able to sleep. Unaided, he'd sat up for hours thinking about his clusterfuck of a trip and how he was going to survive the next four to six months while Justin made up his mind about his future. Their future. Finally, sick of his thoughts, he'd grabbed the Beam and downed shot after shot until he was no longer able to pick up the bottle without dropping it. Heedless of the stream of bourbon dripping over the edge of the bed's platform, Brian had mercifully passed out.

Sunday had elapsed much like Saturday and he'd awakened Monday morning with a headache, a heartache, and the overwhelming desire to draw the covers back over his head and pretend that it was Friday again. But he couldn’t put off his resurrection any longer and, if he didn't show at Kinnetik by nine, Cynthia would be ringing his cell wondering where he was. And if Lindsay didn't hear from him soon, she'd either show up herself at some inconvenient moment or send out the bloodhounds. Namely Mikey and Deb. It was better to face them head on than to be hunted down. He'd learned that the hard way over the years. 

So he sauntered into the diner in Armani and sunglasses as if it were an ordinary Monday morning and he was only nursing a hangover instead of hanging onto a cliff by his nails. Scanning the place, he spotted Mikey and Ben in a booth, Ted and Emmett with them. Instead of squeezing in next to them, he plopped into the booth behind Ben and Mikey. Maybe he'd actually survive breakfast if he sat by himself. 

"Hey," said Michael, turning in his seat to look at his best friend. "Why didn't you call when you got back?" 

"It was late," he lied. 

"Well," drawled Emmett, "I'm surprised you're up and about."

"Especially after being up all weekend. I would have thought you'd be all fucked out," Ted quipped. 

Brian favored them with a tight smile, it was what they expected so why not give it to them? He hadn't removed his sunglasses, didn't think he would. That way he could roll his eyes to his heart's content. Luckily, the guys turned back to their food and left him alone. Now if Deb only had the morning off.

"Kiddo!"

No such luck. Groaning inwardly, he prepared himself for the Grand Inquisition. 

"How was Sunshine?"

"No 'How are you, Brian?' " he asked, even though he would much rather answer her question than his.

Popping him on the arm with her dishtowel, she replied, "I assumed that if he was happy, so were you. So?"

"He's fine."

At that the guys turned and looked at him. 

Shit. 

Deb slid into the seat across from him. "Spill."

"Deb—"

"Don't 'Deb' me. What the fuck is going on?"

Drawing upon his considerable experience being an uncommunicative bastard, he said, "Nothing."

"Nothing my ass."

Time for another tactic. "Mind if I get some coffee and toast before I spill my guts?"

She pointed a red nail at him. "Don't think you're getting out of this that easy." Then she went to get his breakfast. 

At most he had a few minutes, at the very least he had until Michael formed the words. 

True to form, Michael eased out of his booth and into Brian's. "Something going on?"

He shook his head. 

"I don’t buy it either."

"Mikey… let it alone."

"You look like shit."

Waving his best friend away, Brian prepared to dodge Debbie as she returned with his toast and coffee. Instead, she sat next to Michael and they presented a united front. 

Brian huffed. "Can we please talk about this later?"

"You'll only avoid us," said Michael.

With a sip of coffee in his system, Brian resigned himself to confessing. "Fine." He paused. It was so hard to talk about this. All weekend he'd avoided even thinking about it because he didn't think he'd be able to keep from jumping back on an airplane to LA if he did. Instead, he'd drunk himself into a stupor. "Justin's… Justin's thinking about staying in LA."

"What?" That was everyone, including the Professor.

"He hasn't made up his mind yet but he really likes it out there, likes his job, and he's thinking about it."

Always one to think the worst of Justin no matter how close they'd become working on Rage, Michael asked, "He seeing someone else?"

"No, he's not seeing anyone else!" bellowed Brian. "Fuck, Mikey, why do you always…" He let it go, had to because otherwise he'd drive himself crazy thinking that maybe, maybe Michael was right and Justin did have another reason for staying out in Callie. 

"Sorry."

"So what did you say?" asked Deb. "And don't tell me you didn't try to convince him to come back."

"What the fuck do you think I said?" Hand trembling a bit, he raised his coffee to his lips, then put it back down.

Deb reached for him, hesitated. "Honey…?"

He shook his head. Dug into his pocket and pulled out enough cash to cover his breakfast. "I gotta go," he said and, miracles of miracles, no one stopped him as he rose and left the building. Only, as he reached the car and got in, he wished someone had. He was going nowhere. The thought stilled his hand as he put the key in the ignition. I'm going nowhere. 

A knock on the window spooked him and he jumped, then slumped down as he realized that it was only Debbie. He cut on the ignition and rolled down the window. 

"I know you said you had to go but I saw you sitting out here and I figured, what the hell."

"What the hell, you'd annoy the shit out of me?"

"I'm sorry, honey."

"For scaring me to death?"

"I'm sorry your trip didn't go the way you wanted it to."

"That's the fuckin' understatement of the century." After a moment, he reached over and unlocked the passenger door. Waited until she'd gone around to the other side and gotten in. "I know you think I did something to piss him off and make him feel this way but I didn't."

"I know you didn't, kiddo."

"I've done a lot of stupid things, Deb, but I didn't fuck up this time." She didn't say anything, just touched his arm. "So why am I the one getting fucked? And not in a good way." 

"You gotta have faith, Brian."

He chuckled ruefully. "Which is another way of saying it's out of my hands and there's not a goddamn thing I can do but sit back and take it."

"You can remind him that you love him."

Shaking his head, he disagreed. "I don’t want to put any pressure on him. If this is what he wants, then I can't stand in his way."

"You'd goddamn better stand in his way!" Pushing him softly, she said, "How do you think Sunshine got you in the first place? Everywhere you looked, there he was, until you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You have to do the same thing."

"Pretty hard to do when he's in LA and I'm here."

"Then call him, email him, write him a fuckin' letter, but don’t let him forget about you. You make him miss you so bad he'll be on the first plane out of LA the moment that movie's done."

"And then what? I watch him grow to hate me because he came back for me? I remember the way he looked at me after he caught me fuckin' Rage in the backroom of Babylon. He hated me." Brian didn't think he'd ever forget the look in Justin's eyes. Hate didn't begin to express the emotions Justin had been feeling. Hate and hurt and disappointment and anger. It had been the hardest thing Brian had ever done, putting the mask on, both inside and out, and turning away, turning to some meaningless trick to try and dance away his pain. "I'd do anything not to have him look at me like that again. Even if it means watching him walk away."

Deb grasped his forearm lightly. "Honey…"

"I thought he loved me," he said, trembling, fighting to keep it together but it was useless so he sat there stony-faced while a tear rolled down his cheek. 

She wiped it away and held his face. "He does, Brian. More than anything."

"I don't know why."

"Damned if I know," she admitted with a cackle and he gave a little smile. "Maybe," she said softly, "it's because you're a good man with a heart the size of fuckin' Pittsburgh."

"I think it's breaking," he said with a hitch in his voice then closed his eyes as a second tear fell.

 

Somehow he'd convinced Debbie that he was all right and he'd gone to work hoping Ted had the good sense to leave their personal relations at the diner and not bring them into Kinnetik. Unfortunately, business etiquette didn't keep Michael from calling him and haranguing him for answers at least two times before lunch. Claiming he wasn't hungry, Brian turned down his best friend's offer to dine together and, instead, sat in his office pretending to work although he'd been staring at the same pair of boards for the past twenty minutes. Finally he gave up and checked his email hoping for a message from Justin although it was still relatively early out in California. To his relief, there was one.

 

"Brian,

I'm sorry for what happened this weekend. Please believe me, I didn't want to upset you. I just wanted us to be together, to have a good time, and to try and make up for all the weeks we've been apart. Instead, I fucked everything up and I hurt you and that's the last thing I wanted to do. I love you so much. 

I want to come home. For good."

 

Brian stopped reading, momentarily startled by Justin's declaration.

 

"I want to come home. For good. I'm sick of sleeping alone and missing you and wanting you and I think I'm going crazy, that's the only excuse I have for what I said to you. I never want to leave you. I'm going to ask Brett if I can finish up my work ahead of schedule so that I can come back home. It's what I want. It's what I need. So clear out those drawers, okay? 

I love you.

Justin"

 

No matter how many times he went to close out the message, he couldn't. He could only sit there and reread it while joy bubbled up inside him, an uncontrollable joy that spilled from his lips in the form of a laugh that went on just a tad bit too long. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he quieted down. And then he began to shiver. 

 

Presents in tow, he took the elevator up to Lindsay's place. Still felt a little strange going there instead of Munchers' Villa but things changed. Mikey was a brand-new dad; he was, hopefully, a better dad; and Justin was in LaLa Land living it up with the beautiful people. Maybe that was where he belonged. Maybe it was time for them to move on with their lives, apart from one another. Only the thought of Justin staying away from him hit him in the gut and he closed his eyes and bowed his head, riding out the pain, as the elevator ascended to the tenth floor. What the fuck was he going to do? 

Fortunately, there was no more time to think about his problems as he'd arrived at Lindsay's door. Knocking, he waited for her and Gus to answer it. Just as he'd expected, Gus flung open the door and bounced for Brian to pick him up. Depositing the bag of gifts in the alcove, Brian lifted his little boy and squeezed him tight. "Miss me?"

"Yeah," replied the toddler, giving his daddy a huge, sloppy kiss which made Brian laugh despite the feel of hamburger-scented saliva running down his cheek.

Holding Gus in one arm, Brian leaned over and picked up the shopping bag he'd put down, handed it to Lindsay with a kiss. 

"Brian, you shouldn't have," she began as they made for the living room.

"Me go to Beverly Hills and not get my kid something ridiculously expensive?" Brian put Gus down. "Please."

Lindsay pawed through the bag and found Gus' presents, gave them to him. The little boy began tearing off the wrapping paper. "He's already the only kid in preschool who wears European designer clothes."

"It's never too early to learn about high fashion." He gestured towards the bag. "There might be something from Bulgari in there for Mom." 

Lindsay's investigation was interrupted by the sound of Gus squealing with delight as he unwrapped a model train with a steam engine locomotive, four cargo cars, and a bright red caboose. Before Lindsay could complain, Brian added, "I picked up a couple of books too."

"Thanks, Dad." Turning her attention to Gus, she said, "Wow, look at that." 

Gus held up his train. "Train, Mommy."

"What do you say to Daddy?" She got her gift box open and gasped, "Brian… it's beautiful." It was a tiny pin in the shape of a butterfly, exquisite, colorful, yet tasteful. 

Train in one hand, Gus climbed up on the sofa next to Brian and kissed him again. "Thank you." Then he was off to his room to show his best friend, Bear, his new toy. 

Left to their own devices, the adults settled down for a serious talk. "You want a glass of wine?"

"Got anything harder?"

"Sorry," she replied.

"Wine'll do then."

She handed him a goblet of rich Burgundy. "So, how was your trip?"

"You mean no one's called to tell you?" he asked in disbelief. "I mean, it's been almost ten hours since I saw Deb and the guys."

"I did get a call from Debbie," she admitted, "but I told her I wanted to hear it from you." She waited. "So?"

Brian bit his lip and shook his head. "I don't know." Took another sip of wine to fortify himself. "Justin…" It was always so hard to say. "Justin's thinking about staying in LA. For good," he explained. 

"What?" Incredulity warred with anger. "Brian—after everything you two have been through?"

"I don't blame him," he replied with a shrug. "Maybe it's time."

"You didn't try to change his mind?"

"You know us, Lindz, nothing's ever easy." With a grimace, he told her what had happened. "I walked out, got a hotel room. The next day we talked, went back to his place, fucked… but it was no good. So I decided to come home early. Only… I…" He abandoned the thought. "Anyway, it gets better."

"What happened?"

"He sent me an email today. Said he's going to ask Brett if he can finish his work on the film early so he can come home."

"What did you say?"

He shook his head.

"You didn't answer him?" Lindsay stared at him. "Why not?"

"I know Justin. He's… impulsive. He misses me right now because I was just there and things didn't go exactly the way he planned but in a few weeks he'll be busy again and wrapped up in his work and he won't miss me. And then he'll start to think that maybe he was right the first time, that maybe he ought to stay in LA. Maybe he should stay," Brian confessed. "Maybe it's time we admitted the truth."

"Which is?"

"That we never should have been together in the first place." He put down his glass and paced the floor, long legs navigating around furniture. "Everyone acts like we're this fairy tale couple, that we were meant to be. But there's no such thing as fairy tales, Lindsay, and sometimes I feel like meeting him was the worst thing that could have happened to either one of us."

"How can you say that?"

"You said it yourself: look at everything we've been through."

"And you're still together." Unlike she and Mel. Christ, what had happened to them? 

"Maybe we shouldn't be."

But she could see the pain in his eyes. "You don't mean that. I know you're hurting." She certainly was. No matter what, she didn't think she'd ever completely recover from losing Mel.

"I'll get over it. We both will," he said. "We'll move on with our lives the way we should have done a long time ago." His hazel eyes darkened. "He'll meet a twink his own age and live happily ever after… and forget all about me."

"And what about you?"

Brian tightened his jaw. "I don't believe in happily ever after." And I'll never forget Justin. 

 

Having finally escaped from Lindsay's, he sat on the floor in his own living room—still sans sofa—trying to ignore the nearly overwhelming desire to call Justin. Despite what he'd told Lindsay, he'd been happy to receive Justin's email. Yet, he knew better than to wholeheartedly trust the young man's apparent change of heart no matter how much he wanted to. Still, he ached to hear Justin's voice telling him he'd be home soon. In his mind, he could see his young lover smiling and twirling the phone cord around his finger, blue eyes twinkling, pink tongue peeking from between his lips. It was so real. As real as his vision of Justin on the ride back from Toronto, cheering him on, confident that Brian would make it. And he'd been there too at the finish line, waiting for Brian to return home. 

God, they'd been through so much.

Craig kicking Justin out of the house, kicking the shit out of Brian. Stockwell. Cancer. Goddamn Ethan. The fuckin' prom.

Brian pinched the inner corners of his eyes. He could never think about the prom without seeing Justin's huge smile as he walked away from him. Just seconds before Chris Hobbs cracked his skull. "Fuck," he whispered harshly. He'd never forget that sound for as long as he lived. Nor the sound of his own voice calling out to Justin to warn him. Too late. Too goddamn late. 

Not this time. 

He picked up the cordless phone and dialed Justin's cell. It rang four times then went to voicemail. Just as well, what he had to say, he didn't know if he could have said it if Justin had answered. Once the voicemail message ended, he began to speak. "Justin, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I don't think you do either. I don't want you to make any promises you can't keep but…" he paused for the longest time, felt a tear slide down along the side of his nose, "but I love you and I'm willing to wait. No matter how long it takes." Severing the connection, he dropped his phone, wiped his face, and climbed the steps to his empty bed.


	6. At the Crossroads

Maybe coming to Deb's for Sunday dinner wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done but he was there so he decided to put on his patented Brian Kinney smirk and pretend that everything was right as rain. Pushing through the front door, he called out, "Hello, peasants."

"The Queen has arrived, all hail the Queen," quipped Ted and Emmett looked askance at him.

"I am the only queen in this bunch." Resplendent in purple and gold and cocking an imaginary crown. 

Ben laughed. "Don't look now, Em, but I think Brian's stolen your tiara."

"And your family," Ted pointed out. 

True enough, Hunter was following Brian's every movement with his hungry eyes and Michael had gotten up to kiss him hello. 

"Hey, Mikey."

Michael studied his face. "You okay?"

"I’m perfect." Grin in place. 

"Besides that."

Ignoring the question, he asked one of his own, another patented Brian Kinney avoidance technique. "Where's the offspring?"

"Well—" he began but then Gus and Lindsay came downstairs and answered at least part of the question.

"Daddy!" yelled Gus, flinging himself off the steps and into Brian's arms. 

"Hey, when did you become a super hero?" Gus looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. "You can fly," Brian explained and Gus giggled.

"I fly, Daddy!" and he wriggled until Brian put him down so that he could run back up the stairs and jump off again, certain that his daddy would catch him.

"Gus Peterson, you will stop that," scolded his mommy as Gus giggled breathlessly.

"Don't worry," Brian told her, "I'll always catch him."

She bussed his cheek. "I know you will." Their very own personal superhero, a Rage for the real world.

"So where's the other rug rat?" he asked. The first couple of family dinners had been a little awkward but the two women had worked at putting aside their feelings to keep the peace for at least a couple of hours. For the sake of the kids. Yeah.

"Mel said Jenny's been a little fussy all day," explained Michael, "so she's not coming."

"Jenny Becca," Gus told Brian just in case Brian had forgotten her entire name. 

"That your little sister?"

"Yeah!"

Deb came over and kissed both father and son. "He's a good big brother too; aren't you, sweetie?"

"Yeah," he said shyly. Then pointed at her and proclaimed, "Gan'ma Deb," with a twinkle in his eyes that almost always guaranteed him a hug. Only three and he was already working the crowds. Brian's kid all right.

Grinning widely, she exclaimed, "I'm gonna eat you up," and Gus squealed in mock fear but went to her without hesitation when she reached for him and smiled when she smooched him on the cheek. "Come on and help Grandma," she told him and off they went to the kitchen to stir the cauldron, check on whatever it was Debbie was fixing for dinner that Brian would only pick at before pushing away his plate.

"Hey, did you ever tell your mom about Gus?" asked Lindsay, weaving her arm through his. 

Brian frowned. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"She is his grandmother." 

Maybe Lindsay had a brain tumor. That would explain the sudden onslaught of insanity. "Genetics."

"You told Jack."

Christ, she knew what the circumstances had been. "Only because he was dying and I figured there was only so much damage he could do. Joanie, on the other hand, will live for fuckin' ever and I don't want him growing up thinking his parents are going to hell for being queer." Pulling away from her, he grabbed an open bottle of wine and a glass, he poured himself a measure. "Christ, Lindsay, she told me God had given me cancer to punish me." He'd been so pissed at her that he'd gotten over his psychologically-induced impotency. So something good had come from seeing her but that was a rarity. Most times he emerged from his encounters minus a considerable amount of skin and he was determined not to subject Gus to that. 

Holding up her hands, she backed off. "Sorry."

Taking his glass, he sat on the steps, hoping everyone would leave him alone. It was bad enough that he had to come to these things without Justin, bad enough that being here with Ben and Mikey only reminded him that his lover was three thousand miles away. Fuck. He took a swig of wine and frowned. Definitely should have stayed home. Only there was no one at home, no one but himself, and he was getting sick of being alone. Alone with his thoughts, thoughts that kept turning to Justin when there was no point in doing so. Hence the venture into Hell.

Justin hadn't called back. Four days since Brian had left that message on his voicemail and Justin hadn't returned his call, hadn't emailed him, hadn't even sent up a fuckin' smoke signal. Nothing. More than once, Brian had been tempted to email him or call him again but he hadn't given into the desire. Better to let things take their course. Justin had probably already begun to regret his hasty email. If so, Brian wasn't going to pressure him. He just spent each day wondering if he'd hear from Justin, if there'd be a message on his machine when he got home. And when there wasn't, he sat staring at the television, a drink in his hand, hoping he'd fall asleep and not being able to. Watching the hands of the clock move around its face, watching the street lights come on and go off, watching the sky darken and then lighten as morning approached. He didn't even bother to disguise the bags under his eyes, forgoing the expensive French anti-aging cream and dragging on his sunglasses instead. Holing up in his office, barely raising his head to growl at Cynthia or Ted when they dared disturb him. Twice during meetings he'd paused and closed his eyes, fighting to open them again. He was tired and lonely and going out of his fuckin' mind. And scared as shit. 

He sighed and Michael broke off his conversation with the guys with a knowing look and came to his side. "You okay?"

Brian stared at the glass in his hands, aware that the room had suddenly gone quiet. He shook his head. No need to pretend. "No."

"Brian—"

Smiling softly, he said, "I miss him, Mikey," then thumbed away the tear that had escaped his lid. He was mortified that he'd begun to cry and yet he couldn't stop the next tear from falling, couldn't stop from shaking as he wept. A hand slipped on top of his and he looked up, knowing that it was too small to be Michael's. Gus looked back at him.

"Doan cry, Daddy," the little boy said and leaned forward to kiss his father's cheek. "Doan be sad," he whispered. 

Brian sniffled. "Okay." Hugged his son to his chest. "Thanks."

As soon as Gus left him in search of toys, Deb came over and cupped his face. "Honey, have you talked to Justin?"

"No point."

"You don't know that."

"I know that making him feel guilty isn't the answer. If he wants to come home, he will."

"And if he doesn't?" asked Michael.

"Then I'll get over it." Embarrassed by the attention he had garnered, he pushed away from the stairs. "So when are we eating?" But he didn't fool anyone. Still everyone agreed that they were hungry and they all sat down to the meal Deb and Em had prepared and tried to pretend that they hadn't just watched Brian break down. Gus helped as he kept up a running commentary on what he was eating, what Hunter was doing, what he'd drawn that week in school, and what presents he hoped to get for his birthday. Grateful for Gus' patter, Brian withdrew into himself and concentrated on eating enough food to ward off Deb's concern. In the end, he finished before everyone else and carried his wine glass to the living room and took up residence on the couch. It was a compromise. What he really wanted to do was to go home but he knew he'd meet with resistance to that idea so he sat on the couch and shut his eyes. Surprisingly, no one bothered him. Maybe they understood.

When it was time to go, Deb pressed a Tupperware dish into his hand and refused to take it back. "At least I'll know you have food. Even if you won't eat it."

He kissed her cheek and said, "Thanks, Mom," knowing how much she liked it. As he'd imagined she would, she waved him way, grinning. 

 

Home again. Food put away in the refrigerator, he stood in the middle of the floor and looked around his empty apartment. Still hadn't replaced the sofa and chairs in the living room, didn't know if he would now. If Justin didn't come back… He removed a cigarette from his sterling silver case and lit it. Perched on the steps to the bedroom. Smoke curled around his head weaving impotent spells. He laid his head against the door frame. This was a time to believe in miracles and he didn't. Didn't believe in miracles or magic. Except that his meeting Justin that night on Liberty Avenue had been magical. And their staying together for as long as they had probably qualified as a miracle. But, in the end, he was here, sitting alone, despite the magical, the miraculous, and the mad. Because there had definitely been more than a touch of madness about them. "Fuck," he said softly. "Fuck." Got up and put out his cigarette. Glanced at the clock. Early yet. Maybe he should have accepted the guys' invitation to Woody's but he hadn't felt capable of bearing their kindness, their concern. 

Wanting something to fill the silence, he went over to the stereo and picked up a CD Justin had left behind. Popped it in and hit the random shuffle button. Didn't pay any attention to it as he pushed aside the curtain and stared outside. And then, somehow, the words seeped under the doorway to his consciousness.

"There may not  
Be another way to your heart  
So I guess I'd better find a new way in  
I shiver when I hear your name  
Think about you but it's not the same  
I won't be satisfied 'til I'm under your skin" 

Justin's skin. Pale and smooth and warm beneath his palm. He spread his hand against the cold glass seeing only his reflection. "Justin…" 

But there was no answer. Of course, there wasn't. There was no such thing as magic or miracles. Only madness. He found the bottle of Beam and carried it to bed. 

 

As a child he'd awakened once or twice to find his old man staring down at him, liquor fumes almost visible as he'd studied him with something akin to confusion. Even as a little boy Brian had correctly deciphered the perplexed look on his father's face. Jack would never say anything once Brian had awakened. He'd only stagger to his feet and stumble from the room wordlessly leaving Brian to heave a sigh of relief that Jack hadn't had anything more malevolent on his mind. Still, the experience had sensitized Brian to the sensation of being watched. 

He awoke feeling someone's eyes on him. Surprised that he'd even slept, he gazed bleary-eyed at the person sitting at the foot of the bed. Snickered and fell back against his pillow. "I didn't drink that much," he muttered, fully prepared to discount what his eyes had seen. 

"Still half a bottle left."

Brian's next word got caught in his throat. He swallowed and sat up again. "Justin?"

"Has it been that long?" the young man asked, smiling broadly as he made his way to the head of the bed and into Brian's arms. 

"Justin," whispered Brian against his neck, sure now that he was no dream, no alcohol-induced illusion. 

"I'm here."

Brian just held him, inhaling his scent as it began to unravel him breath by breath until Justin was holding him up, his strong arms around Brian's chest, artist's hands spread across his back.

"I love you."

"Are you home for good?" Brian asked, holding his breath as he waited for Justin's answer. 

Justin shook his head against Brian's throat, then kissed his neck. "Just a few days. But," he added, "I will be and sooner than we thought. I could never stay away from you." He looked up into his lover's eyes. "Clear out those drawers yet?" 

"Think we can wait until after we're finished making love?"

"Making love?"

Brian smiled, loving the way Justin's voice went up when he was surprised. "Yeah," he purred.

With a smile as bright as his namesake, Justin began unbuttoning his jeans. "I think I can wait that long."

 

Song: "Shiver" by Maroon 5; written by A. Levine/J. Carmichael, Careers-BMG Music Publishing, Inc. (BMI)/February Twenty Second Music Inc. (BMI).


End file.
